


Chocolate Cake (with Buttercream Frosting)

by andquitefrankly



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Azog is out to kill thorin, Because I can, Dwalin really wants Thorin to get laid, Fili and Kili want to be just like their uncle, M/M, The Baker AU, Thorin's a hitman, and i apologize, and so is gandalf in a way..., bilbo is a policeman, dwalin and ori are all over each other and thorin is tired of their shit, especially not that sexy man named bilbo, i've gone overboard on these tags, it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt, just fess up man, no one thinks you're old, there is cursing and maybe sex but idk about that yet, thorin's in denial about his age, you're 41
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andquitefrankly/pseuds/andquitefrankly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is your average man.<br/>He’s got a best friend he wants to strangle, a loving family he hasn’t spoken to in years, about as much love life as the Pope, and a decent paying job he excels at – as a hitman. Of course, he had to go and kill a man his bosses wanted alive and Thorin finds himself on the run, hiding out in the village of Erebor as a baker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lemon Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA! Okay, so I know I'm supposed to be writing the next chapter for Color by Numbers but I got sick and then I finally decided to write this AU because I've been wanting to write it forever.  
> The Baker is a very silly movie and I love it and this fic won't be like it at all. Only a little bit. Just general things are similar. So I hope you enjoy...  
> 

“You could try online dating,” Dwalin suggested over the phone.

Thorin clenched his jaw, stabbing the lift button harder than it necessitated, mobile pressed against his ear, a cup of coffee in hand. “I’m not desperate,” he replied, noting the camera in the upper left hand corner of the lift as he entered it. He’d either have to erase the tape or just get rid of it.

As it was, the phone conversation was a rather good cover. No one would believe that a man receiving a personal phone call could be guilty of any crime. Rather good alibi. Thorin was proud of himself.

“I’m feeling all the desperation for you,” Dwalin said. “Everytime I call you’re working. Just once I’d like to catch you mid-shag.”

“I’ve heard you get off too many times to want that,” Thorin reminded him. “Last week, if I recall correctly.”

Dwalin laughed. “It was a just a quick hand job. Don’t have to get huffy.”

“I don’t like to hear you moaning in my ear while I’m trying to have a serious conversation,” Thorin told him, rolling his eyes.

They had this conversation too many times to count. Ever since Dwalin had gotten together with the small man who ran the Erebor Gazette, he had become obsessed with Thorin finding a bloke of his own. That’s all he seemed to talk about anymore.

The man was worse than his own sister.

The lift doors parted and Thorin made a beeline for Smaug Drake’s secretary. “Hold for a second, yeah?” Thorin told Dwalin before switching on his Bluetooth and placing his phone in his pocket.

“Good morning,” Thorin greeted with a smile, his stern features looking more boyish. “I’m here to see Mr. Drake.”

The secretary blushed, no doubt rampant thoughts of what she wanted the rugged stranger to do to her the cause. “Name?”

“Oakland,” Thorin answered. He knew he wasn’t in the book. Not for today at least. He was scheduled for a meeting with the man tomorrow afternoon.

She checked her appointment book and frowned, pencil tapping on her desk anxiously. “I’m sorry Mr. Oakland, but you don’t seem to have an appointment,” she told him.

“Are you certain?” Thorin asked, making himself sound distraught. He bit his lip for added affect and he could see the secretary falling harder for the shy stranger. “I’m certain it’s today – the 19th.”

The secretary’s eyes lit up, understanding beginning to dawn. “Today’s the 18th, sir.”

Thorin laughed, running a hand through his wavy locks, cheeks tinted pink. “Oh god, I’m an idiot. I could have sworn it was today. Must have been over anxious.”

She once again shook her head in the negative and Thorin apologized, turning back the way he came, accidentally knocking over his coffee and spilling it all over his suit. “Shit,” he cursed, coffee dripping off of him.

The secretary directed him to the toilets and three minutes later, Thorin was removing the ventilation grate in the men’s room. He climbed inside and took Dwalin off hold.

“Loads of folks have found love on the internet,” Dwalin repeated.

“What am I going to write in my profile, Dwalin?” he grunted, the ventilation shaft being a little tighter than he expected. “I don’t have hobbies. I’m a workaholic. And I haven’t gotten laid in four years.”

“Don’t write in the last bit,” Dwalin recommended. “Makes you sound desperate.”

Thorin sighed. “Noted. I’ve got to go.”

“Yeah, alright,” Dwalin conceded. “But I’m not giving up.”

“Goodbye.” Thorin ended the call and took out his gun. Now he could actually get to work.

He crawled some thirty feet further until he saw a tall, lizard like man through the grate. Thorin took a deep breath and aimed his gun.

* * *

Thorin left the building about the same time the secretary found her employer’s dead body sprawled over his desk, a bullet straight through his brain.

She never once suspected the handsome stranger who waved goodbye as he revealed that he had successfully gotten the coffee stain off of his shirt.

* * *

Thorin opened a bottle of beer and threw himself onto the sofa, putting his feet up on the coffee table. God he was getting too old for this work. He downed the beer in one go and threw the bottle into the recycle bin.

“Online dating,” he scoffed. As if he needed someone in his life. Telling him what to do. Fixing him meals and laughing at his unbearable jokes. Like he needed some man to make love to when the job was too much to stand.

Maybe Dwalin had a point.

But he sure as hell wasn’t going to make an online dating profile. Like he told Dwalin, he wasn’t that desperate.

He could make a dating video profile. That was a thing, wasn’t it? What would he even say?

“Hello. I’m Thorin Durin. I’m fort – thirty nine and I’m a professional hit man. I also quite enjoy football.”

Real classy. That’d bring everyone running to their nearest policeman. He’d just have to resign himself to a life of solitude.

* * *

He was awoken by a pounding on his front door. The constant thud echoed into his bedroom and Thorin groaned. “Go away!” he yelled, grabbing the edge of his blanket and throwing it over his face. He burrowed beneath it, snuggling into his pillow.

The dreadful sound stopped and he breathed out a sigh of relief. He slowly pulled back his blanket only to find Gandalf staring down at him. Thorin cursed, pulling a gun from under his pillow, aiming it at the old man. Gandalf simply smiled.

“I could have killed you,” Thorin growled, setting the gun down on the bed as he stared up at the ceiling. He really was quite tired.

“Nonsense,” Gandalf replied, pulling up a chair and sitting down, his grey suit as drab as ever. “Sleeping in, are you?”

“Was the plan,” Thorin admitted. “Think I deserve it.”

Gandalf merely hummed. Thorin knew he wasn’t actually going to be able to go back to sleep and sat up, his blankets pooled around his hips. “What do you want?”

“You didn’t kill Smaug, did you?”

“Of course I did!” Thorin shouted. “You gave me the bloody orders yourself. You think I just think of them as suggestions?”

“No need to get shouty,” Gandalf responded petulantly. He pulled a piece of lint off his trousers and frowned at Thorin. “Well then, there’s nothing to be done,” he said, nodding his head definitively. “You’ll have to lay low for a while. They’ve put Azog after you.”

Thorin really wished he was still sleeping. “You’re going to explain this all to me, Gandalf,” Thorin ordered. “Right now. I thought Azog was dead?”

Gandalf sighed, as if Thorin was the impossible one. But he had known Thorin long enough to know he wasn’t going to do anything without clarification. Gandalf stood and pulled a tattered suitcase out of Thorin’s closet.

“We’ve had a bit of a hostile takeover,” Gandalf revealed.

“Bit of hostile takeover? How is it only a bit hostile?” Thorin asked, rolling out of bed and taking the suitcase from Gandalf and throwing it onto his mattress. “Where am I going?”

“We’ve been bought out. Only a few people died. Barely hostile, really,” Gandalf reasoned. He opened drawers, throwing socks and pants into the open suitcase. He grabbed the few clothes hanging in Thorin’s closet and shoved it into the suitcase as well. “Apparently Smaug was a friend of a higher up and he’s not pleased. So as it is, a life for a life, if you will. Don’t forget your toothbrush.”

Thorin watched him with horrified amusement. The Istari was barely a legal company – after all you couldn’t write in your taxes that your factory good was murder. It didn’t look good. How they were able to actually have business dealings was something Thorin couldn’t comprehend.

Higher up? Thorin thought Gandalf was the highest the ladder went. Apparently this new boss wasn’t a forgiving sort, or the type to do his own dirty work.

“Perhaps you could visit your family,” Gandalf smiled. He placed a comforting hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “I’ll even lend you a car.”

“Gandalf,” Thorin tried but the old man simply waved away his protests. Before Thorin knew what was happening, he was dressed and washed, a beat up suitcase in the back of a junker of a pickup truck. Gandalf happily handed him the keys.

“I’ll call you when everything’s settled,” Gandalf reassured him, getting into his Bentley and driving off.

Thorin had no idea what had just happened, but he figured the right thing to do was to listen to Gandalf. After all, the old man barely steered him wrong.

He got into the truck and dialed his sister.

“Hello?”

“Dis,” Thorin said a bit awkwardly. God, it’d been quite a few years since he saw her, let alone spoke to her on the phone. “Morning.”

“Thorin?” she asked, shocked. “You piece of shit, is that really you?”

Ah yes. Thorin forgot what a beacon of female gentility she was. “Yeah.”

“We all thought you were dead,” she commented. “If Dwalin wasn’t telling us what a whiny baby you were, we’d have sold your stuff and made a cash cow.”

“I send you money every month!” Thorin shouted. Maybe he should just fly to Vegas or something. He could see himself getting drunk on sex and gambling. Much more reasonable than this.

“I’m only joking, you berk,” Dis teased. “What’s with the call? Finally deciding to visit?”

“Actually, yes.”

The shriek Dis let out was making Thorin reconsider his plans. Vegas was beginning to sound really tempting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited. are you really excited? cause i'm really excited.


	2. Rum Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin makes it home, Fili and Kili are hooligans, Dis is tired of his shit, and Dwalin reveals a secret. It's only a secret to Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that I'm really excited yet? Because it hasn't even been a week since the first chapter.
> 
> Also, Fili & Kili are 19 & 17, respectively.

Erebor was a rather small town in the middle of nowhere important to anyone but the even smaller villages surrounding it. A lonely mountain that was considered a thriving metropolis to anyone within a 50 mile radius.

When Thorin was just a boy he dreamed of how he was going to leave. He was going to become a soldier and fight for his country in an exotic land, as far away as possible. Or was going to invent something  amazing and grow incredibly wealthy. Have enough money to own a home in every major city.

In his young mind, the possibilities were endless. Anything to escape the dullness, the responsibilities, the same thing day after day.

And yet coming home now, a wave of nostalgia overtook him.

That there was the cinema that played movies a year after they had come out and where Thorin had gotten to third base with Thranduil from the town over until the other boy shoved him away and called him a pervert. The water fountain in the center of town was where he and Dwalin got caught smoking by his Da and was forced to clean the graffiti off the park benches in punishment.

It hadn’t changed at all, not even a smidge, and Thorin was quite relieved that he had managed to leave, though the reasons were not particularly ideal. Better he see the world and put a few bullets in a couple of heads than live the same old life in the same old town with the same old people.

Thorin turned onto a gravel road and drove another mile up until he saw the old farmhouse he had spent his untroubled youth. He parked his old truck on the pebble covered drive and took a deep breath just as the front door opened and Fili and Kili rushed out.

“Uncle! Uncle Thorin!” they shouted, shoving each other aside trying to reach him first.

Dis stepped out behind them, hands on her hips and scowling fiercely. “Give him a mo’, boys,” Dis shouted after them, as they pulled Thorin out of his truck and tackled him to the ground, the pebbles digging into their skin.

His survival skills kicking into gear, Thorin easily shoved his nephews off, pinning them to the ground with his weight. “Uncle!” Kili cried. “Ow!”

“Get off!” Fili shouted.

Thorin quickly let them go, stumbling backwards as he stood. Fili and Kili groaned on the ground. “You’re heinous, Uncle,” Kili grumbled.

“How’d you even keep us both down?” Fili asked, sitting up with a grin, his blonde hair dirtied by mud.

Kili shot up beside him, twigs and dirt clods stuck in his messy mane. “You’re not as old as we thought,” Kili said, elbowing Fili as he stood up and embraced Thorin.

“You’ve grown,” Thorin exclaimed, wrapping his arm around Kili’s neck, doing the same to Fili once he got his footing. Both boys complained as Thorin drug them to their mother.

“Let ‘em go,” Dis ordered and Thorin did as he was bid, his nephews shoving him away, giant smiles on their faces. “They’re not boys anymore,” she huffed, punching Thorin in the arm. “And neither are you.”

Thorin wrapped his sister in a hug. “Good to see ya, Dis,” he said as he let her go and stepped into the house.

“Boots!” she told him and Fili and Kili did a rather impressive impression of her which led to a good whack behind their heads from their mother. “Both of you, back to your cleaning. Don’t think you’ll get off ‘cause your uncle’s here.”

“Mum,” they groaned in unison, but Dis shot them a fearsome look and the teens shuffled to their room where they were struggling to clean it up.

Dis led Thorin to the kitchen and sat him down, placing before him a plate of fried eggs, bacon, and toast. “Figured you skipped breakfast,” Dis commented, pouring him some coffee and setting herself down opposite him. “What brings you here out of the blue?”

Thorin shrugged, taking a gulp of the coffee. “Felt I needed a bit of a break.”

“So you rushed out here at six in the morning, yeah?”

“Hit me like a wave,” Thorin said.

Dis shook her head but didn’t comment further as he ate his breakfast. “Got beans if you want ‘em.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Thorin said. He shoveled down his food and patted his stomach in appreciation as he finished. “Dwalin?”

“The pub,” Dis answered. She took his plate as he rose, but she grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. “No explanations?”

“I’ll tell you everything later, Dis,” Thorin promised. “I’ll bear my soul, even.”

She nodded, letting him go. “Fine. Run, run as fast as you can.”

* * *

Ori pawed at Dwalin' great big shoulders, panting in his ear as he sucked a bruise onto Ori’s collar bone. This was a really great idea. Probably the best idea he’d ever come up with. Nothing like a mid-morning snog to start the day off right, he always said.

An uncomfortable cough disrupted the amorous couple and Ori squeaked, shoving Dwalin off of him, fixing his shirt as he hopped off the bar. Dwalin staggered back, blinking at the intruder who stood haloed in the entrance. “Bad time?” the man asked.

“You son of a bitch,” Dwalin laughed, slapping a hand on the man’s back and pulling him into a hug. As they pulled apart, Dwalin knocked their heads together. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Ori grabbed his sweater and threw it on, awkwardly buttoning it back up, cheeks tinted pink. “Ori,” Dwalin called, flashing him a smile that made him melt into his trainers. “This here’s Thorin, I’ve told you ‘bout him, remember?”

Thorin nodded in greeting and Ori waved back, grabbing his bag. “I’ve got to,” he coughed, “go,” Ori said. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Thorin.”

He squeezed past Thorin and walked briskly to the Gazette office. He managed to wrangle the door open and threw himself onto his desk. He was never going to be able to look Thorin in the eye.

* * *

“Wonder what’s gotten into him,” Dwalin wondered as Ori traipsed out of the pub, mumbling apologies.

“So that’s the infamous Ori,” Thorin said. “I thought he’d be smaller.”

Dwalin rolled his eyes as he walked behind the bar, grabbing a glass and pretended to polish it. He wasn’t going to open for at least another ten minutes which was why he and the significant other were getting handsy. Something about being kissed senseless always gave Dwalin a clear head as he worked.

“What’re you doing here?” Dwalin asked. “You never did answer.”

Thorin tapped his fingers on the bar. He leaned forward and said, “I’m hiding.”

“What?” Dwalin exclaimed. “What the hell did you do?”

“Apparently I wasn’t supposed to kill a certain someone,” Thorin told him. Dwalin looked ready to blow up so Thorin held up his hands in appeasement. “Don’t start. Gandalf threw me out of my home this morning. No one knows about Erebor so I figured I’d stay here until he clears things up.”

Dwalin snorted. Like that would ever happen. They both knew what Gandalf was like. Chances were it’d be five years before he even remembered he was supposed to be keeping Thorin alive. “What do you plan on doing here, then?”

The guilty look said it all. “I’m not gonna let you drink for free,” Dwalin told him.

“I’ve got money,” Thorin replied. “I’m not a vagrant.” He placed a fiver on the counter, sitting down and waiting patiently for his pint. Dwalin rolled his eyes but took the money anyway. “Fosters, I’ve got to drive back. And keep the change, I’ve got more.”

Dwalin huffed. “What you plan on doing while you’re here?” he asked, pouring Thorin his drink.

“Know anyone looking to off somebody?” Thorin asked, raising his pint in the air and saluting Dwalin before taking a drink. “That’s horrible,” he grumbled. “Love it.”

“The bakery’s been empty for a few years,” Dwalin told him, opening himself a Coke.

“I can’t bake,” Thorin told him. “I tried once, remember? Da threw me out of the kitchen and told me never to try again.”

Dwalin downed his drink sheepishly.

“What?” Thorin asked. “What’s that look? What have you done?”

“I told them you were a baker,” Dwalin admitted.

“You what?” Thorin blurted. Of all the idiotic things a friend could do, this really took the cake. Him? A baker?

He so much as looked at an oven it would spontaneously combust. He was not allowed in a kitchen. Not unless you wanted to call the fire brigade, which in that case, go on and let him bake a pie. Let him boil some pasta. See how great that turned out.

“You told me to lie to them,” Dwalin pointed out. “And seeing as your old man was a baker, and his old man – well I thought, naturally, that’d you go off and do the same.”

Thorin dropped his onto the bar, hands gripping his hair tightly. “And people believed it?”

“Dis had a bit of a laugh,” Dwalin chuckled, sobering as Thorin glared. “And Balin thought you were crazy. But then you were sending money back home and everyone just sort of assumed it was true.”

“That explains all the jokes Dis loves to tell whenever I call,” Thorin mumbled.

Dwalin held back a laugh. “I’ll walk you down there, if you’d like.”

“Don’t bother,” Thorin sighed, downing the rest of his pint. “If it’s still down Drury Lane, I’ll find it just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is most definitely making an appearance next chapter. It's going to be the greatest character introduction ever written. (i don't actually know that, but if I manage to get what's in my mind written down then yes, it will be amazing)


	3. Glazed Pecan Raisin Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable meeting of Thorin and Bilbo. The beginning love stories are built on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY!  
> So this chapter is out a little later than I would have liked, despite the fact that I wrote 80% of it in a laundromat on my iPod last Wednesday. So sorry about that.  
> Updates! I'm working on two fics for the Hobbit Reverse Bang, which means updates might not be as regular as I would like on this fic, or Color by Numbers (THE WRITER'S BLOCK). SO, yeah. I'm done rambling now.  
> Enjoy the chapter! :D

He was originally from Hobbiton in the Shire, a nice small village nearly 200 miles south of Erebor. There were times when he wondered just how he had managed to make it this far north, but didn’t quite dwell on the subject.

Because if he did dwell, he’d give himself a headache, and all because that damned Gandalf thought he’d be much happier surrounded by people he didn’t know. And he really didn’t want to give the old man the satisfaction of being right.

Back in Hobbiton he was pointed at and talked of. “How strange that a Baggins became a police officer,” they’d mutter.

“It’s the Took blood in him,” they’d say disdainfully.

“We all thought he’d become a teacher like his father,” they’d titter with a shake of their heads. “Bright lad, throwing his future away.” As if holding down the law was a sinful occupation.

Didn’t matter to them at all that he was happy, bright shiny badge gleaming under the sweet country sun. Oh no, to them he was a spectacle, despite the fact that Hamfast Gamgee had followed his footsteps and passed up the gardening game for the same badge. He was lauded.

Not Bilbo.

He was perfectly content, thank you very much. Erebor was a bit like Hobbiton in certain regards. It was certainly small, and everyone was in everyone’s business. Though the people in Erebor were… less genteel.

They were a much more rough and tumble sort of people. After all, this was once a mining town. He certainly had to lock up more drunkards than he did in Hobbiton. There were plenty of mischievous teens in need of a stern talking to, one or two domestics that got out of hand. There was even a robbery once, though it turned out to just be a misunderstanding in the end.

Point being there was much more to do here than in the Shire and that was good. Bilbo liked excitement. Nothing too exciting, mind, just enough to get the blood boiling. Just a good adrenaline rush in writing a speeding ticket, or making sure the annual craftsman festival went down without a hitch.

Though the large, cursing man trying to break into the bakery was a bit too much excitement.

He was clearly not from Erebor itself, seeing as Bilbo knew everyone. He even knew who owned the old abandoned bakery the man was trying to break into.

The Durins had been the bakers in town for generations, and Dis had closed up shop after her husband died some five years earlier. Since then the town had had to depend on pre-baked goods from the shops, which never quite hit the spot.

If that vagrant thought he was going to break in, well then he had another thing coming. As long as Bilbo was on duty – and quite frankly, off duty as well – he was going to uphold the law to the best of his ability.

Bilbo kept his hand on the baton by his hip as he walked closer to the bakery, the man picking at the lock with a broken bobby pin. The door swung open and the burglar smiled, entering the dusty shop as if he owned the place.

Well he never! No shame! Bilbo took a deep breath as he watched the man through the window. Deciding it was now or never, he slammed the door open and shouted, “Police!”

The man turned at his voice and slammed his head into a low beam. He stood there, stunned, until suddenly he was falling backwards, slamming onto the flour covered floor.

Bilbo gaped, baton raised above his head in a threatening manner, at the unconscious burglar on the floor.

“Oh my,” he murmured. He hoped he wasn’t dead. That would be highly distressing. And the paper work would certainly induce a migraine.

* * *

Thorin was certain that his head was going to pop off at any moment. It couldn’t be a hangover; he’d only had one drink. At least that he could remember.

Remember, remember… He had gone to his Da’s bakery and – Thorin shot up, a deep throbbing at his forehead making itself known. He pressed a hand to it and hissed in pain, surprised to find he had been bandaged.

Had he been lobotomized?!

“You have not gone through brain surgery,” a voice answered him.

Thorin quickly turned his head – Oh the pain! Instant regret filled every pore – only to see a small, curly haired police constable staring right back at him. It was then that Thorin realized he was in a jail cell.

“I wouldn’t move too much,” the policeman continued, “You reamed yourself pretty good. I wrapped you up, but Oin’ll be here in a bit and give me the final verdict.”

Oin! The old man was still practicing medicine then. That was good to hear.

“And then you’ll be properly booked,” the constable continued.

Booked!

“Yes, booked,” he repeated. “Don’t think that just because you’re a bad crook I’m going to take pity on you.”

“I am not a crook,” Thorin growled.

“So I suppose you were burglaring out of the goodness of your heart.”

“I am no burglar!” Thorin shouted. Him, a burglar! The thought was ludicrous.

“Not yet you’re not, but breaking and entering is still a crime my friend,” the police officer told him, wagging his finger as if Thorin were a contrite child.

Before Thorin could respond, the door opened and in stepped Oin, just as gray as Thorin remembered.

“Alright, Baggins,” the old doctor said, “where’s my fool of a patient?”

Officer Baggins – what kind of a name was Baggins – motioned towards Thorin’s cell, pulling the door open. The policeman didn’t even bother to lock it!

“Oin,” Thorin hissed. “Get me out of here.”

“What you say?” Oin shouted, cupping a hand round his ear. He was always too stubborn to wear a hearing aid. Made his horrible bedside manner all the more atrocious.

Oin began unwrapping the bandage,  mumbling to himself about the size of the brain of the criminal classes.

“Oin!” Thorin shouted, grabbing Oin’s hands and stilling him. “It’s me, Thorin.”

The old doctor squinted at him – he also refused glasses, the stubborn git – and asked, “What’d you say?”

Thorin grabbed his face and forced eye contact, yelling, “Thorin!” pointing at himself.

Oin’s eyes widened, swatting away Thorin’s hands. “If it isn’t Thorin Durin!” he let out with a laugh. Thorin let out a sigh of relief. Finally. “Fallen to a life of crime, aye?” he scolded.

Of all the – “I’m innocent!”

* * *

Dis  rushed into the police station, Fili and Kili by her side. The man hadn’t even been in town an hour and already he was arrested. As far as Dis saw it, he could rot in that jail cell. It’d serve her impossible brother right.

Though it’d only make her boys admire Thorin all the more, and those two were idiotic enough without them emulating their uncle.

“Where is he, then?” Dis asked Bofur, who was manning the desk, his droopy mustache nearly turning up as he straightened himself at Dis’ entrance.

“Looking as beautiful as ever, Dis,” Bofur winked, doffing his cap. “Mornin’ lads. Treatin’ your mother good, I hope. Don’t want to have to lock you up for breakin’ her heart.”

“Stop it,” she told him, glaring at her boys as they chuckled behind her.

Kili leaned on Bofur’s desk and whispered, “Is Uncle Thorin really in jail?”

“I took his picture,” Bofur replied proudly. “Very photogenic fella.”

“Bofur,” Dis cut in.

He coughed, motioning towards the back of the station with his thumb. “I didn’t realize his life had gone off the rails,” he grinned. “I’ll get him, don’t you worry your pretty face.”

Bofur whistled happily as he left his post, poking his head into the holding cell. Thorin glared at him. “Now what?” he asked. “Want to retake my mug shot?”

“Your sister’s here.”

Thorin stood, clutching onto the door of his cell, face between the bars. It was about damn time she showed up. He called her at least an hour ago. Or perhaps it just felt longer since he didn’t have his watch on him.

“She’s going to have a chat with the arresting officer,” Bofur told him. “And once everything’s cleared up, you’re free to go.”

The arresting officer. “No!” Thorin shouted. This was not good. Not good at all.

* * *

“When you mentioned you had a brother, I imagined him a little less…”

“Rude?” Dis asked.

Handsome. Rugged. Damn well fuckable. “Yes,” Bilbo conceded. “That’s one way to put it.” He stirred his tea anxiously, trying to forget the stern face of one Thorin Durin. Heaven above, that man must have been molded by the gods just to play havoc with Bilbo’s mind.

“He’s not the pride of the family by any means,” Dis reassured him.

“He called me a ‘child playing at cops and robbers in an attempt to add excitement to my life’,” Bilbo told her. The look of utter disbelief on Dis’s face made him feel just a little bit better. “And then an idiot because I had no idea who he was.”

In truth, Bilbo wasn’t telling the entire story. After yelling at poor Oin about who he was, he went on and on about how his arrest was unjustified. Then when Bilbo brought up the fact that he was in fact _breaking and entering_ , Thorin scoffed – scoffed! – all self righteous fury. It was _his_ bakery after all. It’s not a crime to break and enter into your _own_ shop.  

After that Bilbo lost his temper and rather than calling Dis for confirmation on his story, he booked Thorin right away. It was glorious. The look of pure shock in his mug shot was definitely worth it.

Dis patted Bilbo’s hand. “If you want to hold him overnight, I completely understand.”

Bilbo grinned at her. “Oh good. I was worried you were going to knock me a good one.”


	4. Spiced Carrot Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's released, Dwalin and he have a little chat, and Fili and Kili go digging in things they shouldn't.

“Alright,” Bilbo smirked, turning the lock on Thorin’s cell door at the crack of dawn. “You’re free to go.”

Thorin groaned from the uncomfortable bench he had been laying on. It was impossible to sleep on those things, and Bilbo knew it. Maybe next time Mr. Durin would think twice before he went around insulting police officers.

“What time is it?” Thorin asked, slowly sitting up and wiping sleep from his eyes. Damn. He was gorgeous even at ass o’clock. Could Bilbo keep him locked up for that? Had to be illegal.

Bilbo feigned checking his watch. “Ten past six,” Bilbo grinned. “Up and at ‘em, Martha Stewart.”

Thorin blanched at the nickname, grumbling as Bilbo led him out of holding. Before he knew it, he was in possession of all his belongings and was sitting on the steps in front of the station. “You’re torturing me on purpose, aren’t you?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo nodded. “Sure am.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a granola bar, tossing it at his ex-prisoner. “No need to look so glum,” Bilbo chirped.

“I wasn’t breaking in,” Thorin tried once more, ripping into the packaging of his breakfast.

“Oh, I know,” Bilbo replied, sitting down beside him. “I believed you right away. You’d be surprised how often that happens around here.”

Thorin looked up at him, affronted by Bilbo’s statement, and opened his mouth to no doubt insult Bilbo once more, when the calling of Thorin’s name caused him to turn away from Bilbo.

Fili and Kili rushed to Thorin, still in their pajamas, bright grins on their faces. “Uncle!” Kili crowed, disturbing the peaceful morning, jumping atop Thorin with little preamble. “How was your stay in the slammer?”

“Mornin’,” Fili greeted, handing Thorin a thermos of coffee. Thorin happily took it, shoving Kili off his lap in the process.

“Have a nice day, Mr. Durin,” Bilbo said, tipping his hat as he walked back into the station. “Keep him out of trouble, boys.”

“Yes, Mr. Boggins,” they chorused, grabbing Thorin’s arms and lifting him to his feet.

* * *

Thorin lay his face on the kitchen table, his nephews bickering over breakfast across from him. Years of killing, and never once had he been suspected of a crime; he’s not even home an hour and he gets arrested.

Bilbo Baggins. Constable Baggins. Who did that flaxen, dimpled, hazel eyed policeman think he was anyway?

“Bilbo’s the best,” Fili answered, shoveling cereal into his mouth. “He tells the best stories.”

“Yeah,” Kili chimed in. “Plus he doesn’t mind that we call him Boggins.”

“You call him Boggins,” Fili shot back. “I call him by his actual name.”

Kili flung a spoonful of soggy cereal at Fili who set his spoon down and put his younger brother in a headlock. Thorin just sat there and watched. He hadn’t realized he was grumbling aloud. He really didn’t need a policeman on his ass while he was here.

* * *

“Arrested,” Dwalin guffawed, “By wee Baggins.” He was leaning against the bakery as Thorin unlocked the door. He eventually talked Dis into giving him the key, seeing as he didn’t want another run in with the law.

“It’s not funny,” Thorin growled, stepping into the bakery, slamming the door shut once Dwalin managed to drag himself inside. Thorin took in the old shop and frowned.

He grew up within these walls, watching his father bake, covered in flour and frosting. He and his siblings used to play in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the oven and racing each other when the timer went off, seeing who could reach Da first. He had been expected to take up the mantle and he had failed. Terribly.

And Thorin had been fine with that. He just wasn’t meant to bake. He didn’t have the head or skill for it. Following orders, sweating away in a hot kitchen wasn’t something he had wanted anyhow.

But now he looked at the old, dusty bakery and wondered he had ever let the place come to this. Abandoned and forgotten, just like him, apparently.

“It’s hilarious,” Dwalin said, running a hand over the old register.

Thorin shoved him as he headed towards the kitchen, a wave of nostalgia hitting him like a ton of bricks. It hadn’t changed at all. “Who is this Baggins anyway?” Thorin asked, picking up a rolling pin and spinning it in his hands.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Dwalin rectified. “Transferred in from Hobbiton a few years back.”

“Where?”

“Some village south of here,” Dwalin went on. “Gandalf recommended him.”

“Gandalf!” Thorin blanched. That old man had his fingers in more pies than he was capable of handling. “Is he a – ”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dwalin shot down his idea. “Policeman. Keeps a garden and everything. He’s as much as killer as you are a baker.”

“Speaking of, why!” Thorin asked, raising his arms at the old place. “I want a real answer this time.”

“I blanked,” Dwalin shrugged. “You do come from a long line of bakers, you know.”

Thorin shook his head but didn’t fight the statement. “I can’t bake.”

“You can’t be that bad.”

A loud knocking interrupted their conversation and Dwalin and Thorin shared a look. Thorin raised a questioning brow and Dwalin shrugged in answer.

Thorin quietly made his way to the front door, strung tight as a bow, only relaxing when he saw it was Officer Baggins through the window. “Yes?” Thorin asked, blocking the doorway with his body, looking down at Bilbo.

“Oh good,” Bilbo smiled. “Just wanted to make sure you got the key. Oh, hello, Dwalin.” Thorin sensed, rather than saw, Dwalin wave his own greeting. “Dis assured me there would be no more break ins,” Bilbo added with a wink, chuckling under his breath.

Thorin just stared down at him, not adding anything to the conversation. Bilbo cleared his throat, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” he said. “Hope to taste the ever famous Durin bread I’ve heard so much about.”

Then just as quickly as he appeared, he left, whistling a tune as he continued on his beat. “I don’t like him,” Thorin declared.

“Really?” Dwalin asked. “I think he’s just your type.”

“Shut it,” Thorin growled. “If you try to set me up with him, I’ll murder you myself.”

“But then you'd have no friends. You don't want that.”

* * *

Kili kept watch at the top of the stairs as Fili snuck into Thorin’s room. He opened his suitcase and rummaged through the clothes, frowning at the boring contents. Pants, pants, socks, trousers. What sort of uncle disappears for years and doesn’t bring back any dirty secrets?

“Anything?” Kili called from the stairway.

“The point of a look out, is to warn, not go about revealing your position,” Fili yelled back.

“You’re the one you pointed out I was a look out,” Kili shouted.

Fili snapped the suitcase closed and threw it back on the bed where Thorin had left it earlier that morning. He poked his head into the closet, searched the dressers, peaked under the mattress, and nothing. “There’s nothing here,” Fili declared.

The bedroom door burst open and Fili froze, certain he was caught, only to find his brother standing there. “You idiot,” Fili said. “You left your post.”

“No one’s home anyway,” Kili brushed him off. He pulled open a dresser drawer and said, “You look under the bed?”

“No one hides anything under the bed,” Fili grumbled, though kneeling and checking under the bed, if only to humour his brother. “Oh.”

Kili knelt down beside him, head touching the ground. “What’s this?” Kili asked, pulling the small, black briefcase out from its hiding place.

Both boys looked at it in reverence, gently placing it on the bed. “What do you think’s in it?” Fili asked, noting the lock keeping it shut.

 Kili frowned, digging into his pocket and pulling out a bobby pin. “I don’t know,” Kili said. “But let’s find out.”

“Where’d you get that?” Fili asked, watching as Kili broke the pin in half and began going to work on the briefcase. “You can pick locks?”

“Nori’s been teaching me,” Kili admitted. “I’m his apprentice.”

“You’d make a terrible criminal.”

“I’ll have you know, Nori is a legitimate businessman,” Kili grunted, tongue sticking out between his lips.

Fili rolled his eyes. “That’s what a criminal would say.”

Kili laughed. “Probably.” The lock clicked open and both boys stared at each other in wonder. They did it. Kili took a deep breath before opening the clasps and opening the case.

The air in their lungs rushed out of their lungs as they stared at what could only four guns, snuggled nicely in their respective spots. They looked up at each other, excitement thrumming through their veins.

“Uncle Thorin’s a killer,” they said in unison.

Now _that_ was a dirty secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I satisfied with this chapter? Not completely. But I wanted to get past Thorin's arrest. The Fili and Kili bit at the end I quite like. I don't really have much to say... If you follow my other fics then you'll know I'm currently working on two fics for the hobbit reverse bang, and as such, updates on this fic may not be as forthcoming. I haven't forgotten, I'm just busy writing! Huzzah! that is all :)


	5. Angel Food Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Kili confirm their suspicions, Ori and Bilbo are best friends, and oh hey, look, Azog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so incredibly sleepy. Sorry about the wait guys. Got a job and I'm working every day until they hire more people. But I've been writing this chapter on my ipod during my lunch breaks XD

Fili sat in front of the computer, aggressively clicking on search links. “We don’t know for sure that he’s a killer,” Fili argued.

Yes, it’d probably be the coolest thing to ever happen in their lives if their uncle was a crazed murderer, but they had to think about this logically. He could… work for MI6! That’d be just as neat, and he was probably told by his boss to lay low while some baddies were looking for him.

_That_ was much more probable than their uncle being a killer, or a member of the mafia, or something equally dumb.

“Just do the picture search,” Kili said, taking a photo of one of the guns and waving the mobile under his brother’s nose. “We’d get a better match than typing ‘black handgun types.’”

“Well if you’re so smart you look it up!”

“I will!”

“What are you two doing up there?” Dis hollered from the bottom of the steps, a basket of laundry under her arm. “You better not be in your uncle’s room.”

“We’re not doing anything,” they shouted back in unison.

Dis snorted in disbelief, but left them to it anyway. She really didn’t want to deal with a headache at the moment. They were better off upstairs snooping through her brother’s things then downstairs getting in her way.

Both boys held their breath, waiting for their mother to march up the stairs. When she didn’t appear, Fili and Kili slumped against one another in relief. “That was close,” Fili whispered, connecting Kili’s phone to the computer.

A few clicks and an upload later, Kili scrambled atop Fili to read over his shoulder. “A glock 17,” he read aloud, “made almost entirely from plastic, makes it almost undetectable by metal detectors. For this reason alone it is the handgun of choice by professional assistants.”

Fili smacked Kili in the back of the head. “That says assassins, you moron,” he scolded.

“That hurt!” Kili pouted, punching Fili in the arm. “I’m sensitive.”

“You’re an idiot,” Fili repeated. “Who can’t read. What would an assistant want with a gun?”

And that’s when it hit them. Assassin.

They were right. Thorin was a killer. “He’s a hitman!” they exclaimed.  

* * *

Ori sat at his desk, head cushioned in his arms, trying his best not to doze off. Being a journalist wasn’t very exciting when you knew everyone in town and everyone knew the news before you printed it. At this point, a daily issue was a waste. Twice a week seemed reasonable enough, plus he’d actually be able to print more than a page.

That’s it. He was moving. He was going to move to a town with a newspaper that had more than one reporter on staff. Someplace where the town had a population of more than a hundred people. Someplace where things happened.

The bell over the door jingled and Ori straightened in his chair. He didn’t want anyone to catch him in his plotting.

“Making your escape plans?” Bilbo asked, hopping up onto Ori’s desk, his helmet on his lap. “May I suggest Berlin? Weather’s lovely this time of year, I hear.”

Ori huffed, shoving Bilbo off his desk. “Easy for you to say,” he complained. “You’re not from here. The only person who’s ever left was Thorin Durin.”

“Ah yes, the prodigal son returns,” Bilbo commented. “I saw that article. Very nicely written.”

“Did he really spend the night in jail, or was Bofur teasing me?” Ori asked, fishing for a pencil amongst the pile of papers on his desk, hoping to get the scoop. That was on perk of the job. Confirming or defunking town rumors.

“As the arresting officer I can neither confirm nor deny anything,” Bilbo grinned. “But know that he’s still hot sleeping. It’s completely unfair.”

Ori kicked at Bilbo’s legs. “I met him yesterday,” Ori told him with a grin, a slight blush tinting his cheeks. “I didn’t get a chance to look much.”

“Caught you and Dwalin rutting against each other like bitches in heat?” Bilbo asked, hooting with laughter as Ori squeaked, swatting at his arm repeatedly. Bilbo understood that the two couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but as Ori’s best friend, he had the sole right to make fun of him for it.

Ori dropped his head onto the desk, his voice muffled as he whined, “It was horrible.”

“Have you considered controlling your libido?” Bilbo asked.

The look Ori gave him said it all. As long as he was able to climb Dwalin like a tree, he wasn’t going to stop. Any second now Ori was going to ask him if he found his own tree to climb. “You should ask him out,” Ori said.

“Dwalin?” Bilbo asked, making a face. “I’m not into polygamy.”

Bilbo knew exactly who Ori was talking about, but the way he saw it, there was no way Thorin would ever date a guy who had arrested him in a non-kinky way. Plus considering how hot he was, he was most likely straight. Which was a shame because Bilbo would love to climb that tree.

“Dwalin told me he’s the gayest man in the world,” Ori continued, ignoring Bilbo’s sass. At this point he was used to it. “Thorin, not Dwalin. You’d be unbelievably precious together.”

“It’s not going to happen,” Bilbo told him, hopping off the desk. “I’ve got to get back to the station.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Bilbo couldn’t very well leave Bofur alone. Who knows what mischief he’d get up to.

* * *

Thorin grabbed a cook book off of the shelf and blew off the dust, years worth of old flour flew into the air, swirling in the early afternoon light. Dwalin had left him an hour earlier to go “do my damn job. Can’t babysit you all day,” acing as if leaving Thorin alone was about the same as leaving a baby unattended. He could very well handle himself.

It was the memories that were the problem.

Erebor had always seemd so distant, especially when he was of in Shanghai, Morocco, or Cancun, lving the fast life, killing men and women as if they were mere flies in his path.

There were times, as he looked through the scope of his rifle, when he wondered, what was Dis and the lads doing now? How many scones did Mrs. Crane order for her niece’s birthday? Had Da ever given Vallis his chocolate cake recipe or had it died with him?

If Thorin had stayed in Erebor there was a high chance he would actually be the baker, as his Da and his Da before him. Perhaps he would have found the passion and skill.

Perhaps, perhaps. Always _if_. Now he was living the _if._ The Baker.

A coveted title in this town. One that Thorin didn’t deserve.

They were going to expect him to bake. Officer Baggins was already hounding him for it.

Thorin resisted the urge to run out of town, screaming at the top of his lungs. That would be highly suspicious, and be detrimental to his pride.

He pulled out his mobile and dialed Dwalin, hopping up onto a countertop, ignoring the flour that would surely dust his jeans. “I need you to do me a favor,” Thorin said as Dwalin answered. “I want you to bring my things down here. The bakery, you idiot. Yeah, everything. Best to keep consolidated.”

Above the bakery was a small flat, one that his grandparents lived in when he was still a boy, and where his father would sleep after a long day of baking. It had practically been his second home as a child, and it was best to keep himself away from Dis and the boys. He loved them to death, but if he was going to bake, he’d best do it without any of them breathing down his shoulder.

“I left my kit under the bed,” Thorin continued. “You’re worse than my mother, I didn’t have time, did I!” Dwalin decided to lecture and Thorin simply tuned him out. He’d been away from the house for a day, tops. Hardly enough time for his nephews to cause havoc. If anything, Dis would keep them away from his things.

“Look, I want you to hide the kit at your place,” Thorin cut him off.

Dwalin growled, “I’m not keeping illegal firearms in my home.”

“They’re not illegal,” Thorin shot back. “Just do it, yeah.”

“Fine,” Dwalin relented. “But if Ori finds them, I’m cutting off your hair and making myself a wig.”

“How is it my fault if you don’t know how to hide weapons?” Thorin asked, receiving a dead phone line in reply.

* * *

The door easily swung open and Azog immediately knew that Thorin wasn’t home. It would be far too easy if he had been. Azog had always enjoyed a challenge.

He took in the flat with dead eyes, looking for any hint of where Thorin had gone. He took heavy, measured steps, fingers running across tables and walls, stroking the objects Thorin had amassed over the years.

The place, despite having been Thorin’s home for nearly fifteen years, lacked any personal affects. It was clinical in the way most homes of men like them had to be. A minor slip up, a picture of a wife, child, family member, a hint of a weakness and their enemies (and allies) knew how to take you apart.

Thorin had been a professional for years, but Azog knew he’d slip. Everyone did. No one was as ruthless or unfeeling as they claimed. Thorin especially. That man had a gooey center, no doubt about it. It was written in the way he held himself, in his words, in his very air.

Azog could smell it on him.

He was going to find him and crack him open; he was going to enjoy watching that sweet center fall to the floor in a goopy mess.


	6. Lemon Meringue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a date, really it isn't. And Fili and Kili may not completely understand how secrets work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THAT UNINTENTIONAL THREE MONTH HIATUS. LIKE WHAT EVEN HAPPENED THERE?!  
> But I'm back, and with a new chapter! So huzzah! also thelittle-hobbit game me the title for this chapter so you have her to thank. I also think it suits. so :P

Dwalin had hidden the kit in the cupboard above the fridge, the one that he left empty because it was too much effort to open the damned thing when he had plenty of other dish space. The only person likely to find it was Ori, but he wasn’t tall enough to reach the top of the refrigerator, let alone the cupboards above it. And besides, Ori already knew where he kept all of his dishes and cans so he wasn’t going to be fishing about in unnecessary cupboards.

The only trouble was going to be Fili and Kili who had caught him sneaking out of their house, having spent the afternoon sleeping on the couch.

He didn’t feel too bad entering their home, seeing as he had a key Dis had given him whenever she needed Dwalin to help her out, left over from when he used to babysit the lads.

They had looked up at him in confusion, their dismay at him carrying Thorin’s belongings intensifying as he explained how their darling uncle was moving closer to the village. 

“But what about family?” Fili asked. “Doesn’t he want to spend time with his amazing nephews?”

“We haven’t seen him ages,” Kili whined. “Least he could to do is sleep in the same house as us.”

“I’m just doing what I’m asked,” Dwalin grunted, heading out the door, only to hear them jumping over the couch and racing up the stairs. He shook his head at their antics, certain that they were going to take over the abandoned room, not actually all that upset to see their uncle go.

It wasn’t until Dwalin was pulling his truck out of the drive and heard the boys shouting his name, standing on the porch, waving their arms frantically, that Dwalin realized that maybe they really did care.

Thorin always was one lucky son of a bitch.

* * *

Fili and Kili watched Dwalin drive away and slumped onto the stairs. It didn’t escape their notice that Dwalin grabbed everything. And by everything, they meant EVERYTHING.

Thorin’s clothes, his hygiene products, and more importantly, his gun.

There was a chance their uncle told Dwalin to pick up the box under the bed, but Thorin and Dwalin had been best friends for years. It was very obvious that Dwalin was very much aware of Thorin’s assassin status.

“How could he hide this from us?” Kili asked. “We see him every day and never once did he mention our Uncle was a stone blooded killer.”

Fili shrugged. “Probably scared we’d tell Mum.”

“But hold on,” Kili said. “If Uncle’s a killer – ”

“Assassin.”

“Assassin,” he corrected. “Then what’s he doing in a bakery?”

Fili opened his mouth, only to shut it just as quickly. His brows quirked forward and he tilted his head in thought. That… was a very good question. As far as they knew, from the stories their mum told them, Thorin couldn’t bake for his life.

There was that one time he nearly burned the bakery down on their mum’s thirteenth birthday because he had tried to bake her a cake. If he couldn’t even do that properly, what were the chances of him actually making a career of it.

Then it came to him. “It’s his codename,” Fili said. “Obviously.”

* * *

 

Thorin was in a horrible mood.

He had gone to the shop just down the street and bought preliminary ingredients: flour, butter, salt, etc, just to “test the old oven,” he told the shop keeper, when really he decided to try his hand at baking.

It was no surprise at all when he was just horrid as he remembered.

God, he was terrible at this, he thought as he opened the windows of the bakery, clouds of smoke billowing out onto the street.

If anyone wanted proof of his skill, they need only smell that and know he was no baker. He was an idiot. He should just pack his bags and leave. The simplest route.

Deciding what he needed was a good sulk, Thorin tore off his apron and headed down to that crap Thai place two blocks over, not having done any proper shopping, deciding to torture himself instead.

Only the crappy Thai place apparently went out of business and was now a crappy tea shop. Of course. Because why not, right? Not like the old people didn’t drink enough tea already, now they had a place to go and drink tea together.

Brilliant!

“Are you gonna go in?”

Thorin immediately reached for his gun, remembering that his gun was currently in the charge of Dwalin. He really was becoming paranoid.

A turn of his head revealed small Bilbo Baggins, wearing a thin sweater vest and the most ridiculous hat Thorin had ever seen. He tried convincing himself that it wasn’t cute in the least. “Constable Baggins,” Thorin drawled.

“Bilbo’s just fine,” he replied. “I’m off duty.”

And then he winked. Winked!

Thorin pretended not to notice. “This used to be Thai,” Thorin pointed out, lost in his reminiscing.

He used to come here all the time as a boy, he and Dwalin rushing here after school, allowance heavy in their pockets and a plate of Phat Thai calling their names. Mr. Montri was the only one, other than his dad, willing to hire him when he was sixteen. And the back alley was where he had gotten his first blow job from that boy who was visiting his grandparents for the summer holiday.

Very good memories.

“Dori bought out the old owner years ago,” Bilbo said. “They’ve got biscuits and sandwiches if you’re hungry.”

Biscuits! Sandwiches! What sort of man did Bilbo Baggins think he was. He wouldn’t trade in a good Phat Thai for stupid finger foods. He mustered up his disgruntled dignity and snorted his displeasure.

“Come on,” Bilbo said, opening the shop door and tilting his head in invitation. “I’ll buy you a croissant.”

* * *

Dori looked up as the bell above the door jingled, only to nearly drop the teapot in his hand.

Thorin Durin really was in town. Not that he didn’t believe his brother, but honestly, sometimes rumors were just rumors. And there he was, striding into his shop with a confident air and a t-shirt just on the shy side of being too tight, Bilbo leading the way, nattering on about who knew what.

He was probably going to eat the poor policeman for dinner!

Why did Bilbo think provoking a feral wolf was a good idea? Sometimes he wondered about that man, he really did. Always getting into trouble, sticking his nose in things it didn’t belong.

But high heavens, Thorin Durin!

“Dear Lord,” Balin sighed, sipping at his earl grey, scratching at his short, white beard. “No use denying I’m getting on in years, but I didn’t need him to come in here and make me feel inadequate. The grey looks distinguished on him.”

“Oh, hush,” Dori chastised, swatting at his elbow. “Some men are just born that way. Good genetics.”

“Well, thank you very much. I feel much better now,” Balin grumbled, sliding out of his chair, patting his stomach for good measure. “I’ll make sure to tell him you think he’s as handsome as ever.”

Dori lunged forward, attempting to stop Balin from ratting him out but was too late. Damn it.

Well he couldn’t possibly eavesdrop from all the way over here, now could he.

He set down his teapot and slowly worked his way towards Bilbo and Thorin’s table, chatting with his customers along the way.

“Hello, Bilbo,” Dori greeted, then turned to Thorin and feigned surprise, hand covering his mouth dramatically. “Thorin Durin, I can’t believe it. And here I thought you were locked up in jail.”

Bilbo chuckled nervously, sinking into his seat, lifting the menu in front of his face to hide himself.

Thorin raised his eyebrows, lips caught between his teeth. “Wow, Dori. You… haven’t changed a bit,” he said.

Dori punched him in the arm and Thorin cringed, rubbing at the no doubt bruised appendage and shot a pleading look at Balin who simply shook his head and smiled. “Where do you get off leaving like nothing and not coming back ever?” Dori scolded.

“I’m back now, aren’t I?” Thorin whined, sounding very much like his own impetuous nephews.

“Oh sure, you’re back,” Dori continued. “And when will you be leaving? Don’t want to keep my hopes up.”

Thorin pursed his lips in annoyance, glaring up at Dori with as much ire as he could muster. Just as he was about to respond, Balin put a hand on Dori’s back let out a nervous chuckle. “I think table three wants their bill,” he casually mentioned, leading Dori away from the couple.

Dori wanted to shout that he very well knew table three wanted their bill, but they could wait another minute. It wasn’t going to kill them to be patient. What he really needed to do was scold Thorin some more, because the nerve of the man; up and leaving without a word.

His own brother becoming a delinquent without Thorin’s guidance or counsel, and the other one falling for that stupid best friend of Thorin’s, no one to keep Erebor in order without a proper Baker – a Durin – in charge.

It was unseemly. What would his mother think, god rest her soul.

“Leave ‘em,” Balin hushed. “They’re fragile.”

Dori snorted – fragile his left foot – but conceded the point. Just as well he finally found himself home, and on a date no less.

* * *

“This is…” Thorin trailed off. Awkward was the first word that came to mind. Nice, was the second. Neither were very appropriate to say.

“I really am sorry,” Bilbo piped up. “You’re not going to hold a grudge are you?”

Him? A grudge? Never! But he was probably going to ignore him the rest of the evening. That was much more satisfying. “You kept me in lock up over night,” Thorin reminded him. So maybe he wasn’t completely above holding a grudge. He was only human.

“You broke the law,” was Bilbo’s reply.

Thorin grunted. He was being honest. Apparently it was illegal to be honest with the police? He’d have to talk to someone about that.

“How about we start over,” Bilbo interrupted his thoughts, hand outstretched, offering up a warm smile. “I’m Bilbo Baggins.”

Thorin rolled his eyes but shook his hand anyway. “Thorin Durin.”

“That wasn’t so bad,” Bilbo remarked. “I bet we’re going to look back on this whole fiasco and laugh about it. Tell our children and grandchildren until they groan every time we mention your arrest and my involvement.”

“ _Our_ as in collectively yours and mine, or _our_ as in belonging to us both?” Thorin questioned, taking special glee in the way Bilbo’s neck turned red, followed slowly by his cheeks and ears, a slow climb that paired with the policeman’s wide eyes reminded Thorin that he hadn’t gotten laid in a very long time.

Woah. Wait. Hold on.

What was he thinking? He wasn’t here to sneak his way into Bilbo’s pants. He had to lie low. That meant not flirting with this man, no matter how many times Dwalin said his blue balls were going to be his cause of death.

Bilbo harrumphed, setting the menu down on the table. “I know what I’m getting.”

“I want Thai,” Thorin grumbled, his stomach growling in agreement.

“Stop complaining,” Bilbo told him. “I’m paying anyway.” He waved his hand at Dori who shot like whip towards them, an eager smile on his face.

“And what can I get you two today?” Dori asked, looking eagerly between the two, no doubt trying to spy up close so as to properly gossip about their date to his customers.

Thorin set down his menu and said seriously, “Do you have Phat Thai?”

The look of horror on Dori’s face was answer enough. Thorin sighed and handed his menu over. “Then I guess I don’t really care,” he muttered.

“I don’t know why you came if you’re just going to complain,” Bilbo responded.

“You forced me!” Thorin replied.

“We can go to Dwalin’s and eat pub food,” Bilbo told him, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“You don’t even want to,” Thorin shot back before realizing what Bilbo had said. “We?”

“I did say I’d treat you.”

“You offered me a croissant.”

Dori stood there, smile plastered on as the two bickered back and forth, wanting to make a tactical retreat but not wanting to miss a minute of this.

* * *

“He’s going to kill us,” Gimli pronounced as Fili and Kili hoisted him up to the window, the rest of their friends watching with baited breath. “And then my Da is going to kill me.”

“Stop being over dramatic,” Kili shouted up at him, Fili shushing him with a shove, Gimli losing his grip on the window ledge.

Legolas grabbed Gimli’s leg, stabilizing him, glaring at his boyfriend’s cousins. The last thing he needed was a dead boyfriend, especially when their dads were finally able to shop in the same store without needlessly harassing the other.

He really didn’t want to start a blood feud.

“Is it open?” Legolas asked.

Gimli nodded, opening the window and wriggling inside, making sure to stay quiet. It was night and Dwalin was at the pub, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t notice them sneaking into his flat. A minute later, the side door opened and Gimli stood there, waving his hands at them.

The teens tiptoed to towards him, Fili and Kili in the lead, Tauriel, Sigrid, Legolas, and Faramir trailing behind.

“Why are we here again?” Sigrid asked, wrinkling her nose at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, her fingers twitching with the need to tidy up.

“We’re looking for a box,” Kili told her.

“A grayish/blackish case,” Fili explained. “It’s probably hiding somewhere.”

Faramir crossed his arms, looking down at Fili in suspicion. He only had an inch or two on him, but that didn’t stop him from using his height on the blonde boy. “What’s in the box?” he asked.

A smile broke across Kili’s face and he bounced up and down on his toes. “It’s a surprise,” he said. “A good surprise.”

The teens weren’t too reassured, but seeing as it was a Monday on a warm June night, they figured breaking and entering was a better way to spend their time than sitting at home doing nothing.

“What do you think’s in it?” Gimli asked, checking under Dwalin’s couch as Legolas checked atop the bookshelf.

Legolas couldn’t begin to imagine. The Durin brothers were rather strange, and it was only recently he began getting along with them, seeing as Gimli spent most of his time with them anyhow, and Tauriel had a “will they/won’t they” thing going on with Kili that seriously needed to end.

He had been able to integrate Gimli into his group of friends and vice versa. Besides, it was a small town. At the end of the day, it was really hard not to be friends with everyone.

“Knowing those two, probably something ridiculous,” Legolas grumbled, remembering the time Fili and Kili had lured him towards a giant spiderweb in the forest just on the edge of town, shoving him into it and leaving him to battle the little monsters that deemed it necessary to crawl all over him. They were seven at the time.

Maybe he really should reconsider this friendship.

A sudden burst of song interrupted the search, freezing everyone in their place. Faramir cursed under his breath, answering his phone with a  whispered, “Yes?” stepping out into the hallway.

“If he gets us caught,” Fili said, “I’m making him jump into Longbeard Lake, naked.”

“I think I found it!” Tauriel called from the kitchen, the teens swarming her as she pulled a shiny case out of the cupboard above the fridge.

The front door slammed open and in walked Boromir with a smile, Faramir trailing behind him. “Hey guys,” he practically shouted, his friends glaring at him. So much effort in staying quiet and there he was giving away their location to every passerby.

He grimaced and mouthed, _sorry_ , shrugging at Faramir who scowled.

Fili grabbed the case and set it reverently on the kitchen table, he and his brother sharing a secret smile. “What we’re going to show you can’t leave this room,” he said.

“You have to take it to your graves,” Kili finished, nodding at Fili who unlatched the case.


End file.
